No One Can Be Perfect
by Patronus Prime
Summary: One of Bumblebee's heros did the unthinkable to him. Why... or rather... how could any Autobot do this? Who did this?
1. Chapter 1

Bumblebee sat huddled in the furthest corner of his private room, his arms drawing his legs up close to his chest. His forehead was pressed against his knee, his face hidden in the protective cradle his body formed.

Footsteps, their heavy, metallic clangs on the Autobot Headquarters outside corridor's deck plating clearly announcing them of Cybertronian origin, made Bumblebee look up in alarm. His optics were round and his chin trembling as he tightened his arms around himself. Only because of how he braced against himself and the wall that his entire body wasn't shivering like a leaf in the wind. The possessor of the footsteps, however, seemed to be uninterested in his quarters, for he merely walked past without a pause or hesitation. Though inwardly relieved, Bumblebee did not relax his body except for lowering his head back down.

Never in his life, a somewhat short one by Autobot standards, was he was incapacitated by fear. He was one of the bravest of the Autobots, his courage easily making up for his lack in size and strength, but now someone, someone he thought so highly of, trusted so much, had done the unthinkable to him, and turned him into this.

He flinched as unbidden memories took advantage of him and began to play, and in his present mental state, he could do nothing but let them.

_Pressing on his mouth... a blow to his head... repeated now... pain, not entirely physical... suppression... a growl, a death threat..._

A silent warning flashed red across his field of vision, but to him it was irrelevant at the moment. He squeezed his optics shut, his jaw clenched as he fought to regain control of his own mind, but the images fought back mockingly, making him relive the last experience over and over again. A desperate cry escaped him as he clutched his body to the virtual breaking point. A thought rose from the horrors.

Who would believe him?


	2. Chapter 2

**_I have begun revising so I could stand to add more chapters. This one has undergone some revision, as previous readers might notice if they have very sharp memories and/or eyes._**

**_And why do I alway suck at typing while I'm on the fanfiction Doc Manager?_**

**_Oh, and yes, the recharging chambers in this story are all in one room, contrary to popular opinion. I do not mean to seem bigoted but I do write as the cartoon shows me. I don't know about what the comics say, because I haven't managed to read them. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get my paws on one._**

All right, that's it for me," Jazz said, tossing down his cards in a fold, "Gotta go write that report."

"You, Jazz?" Ratchet replied sarcastically as his optics made a bitter sweep of the game table, particularly at his own miniscule pile of chips, "Leave in the middle of such a nail-biting game?"

Three hours or so ago, Ironhide had walked stridently into the recreation room with a case of huge, makeshift poker paraphernalia in hand, challenging all occupants of the room, Sideswipe, Blaster, Jazz, and Sunstreaker at the time, to a Terran game he recently learned. All joined quickly when they were told high grade energon, home-processed by ol' Ironhide himself, was in the pot. Unfortunately for Ironhide, he apparently did not realize that Jazz, being the ultimate culture junkie, would indubitably know all about poker. But, despite his predictable winning streak, the group swelled to include Mirage, Cliffjumper, Ratchet, Trailbreaker, Inferno and one of the newest arrivals to Earth, Hot Rod.

"Oh no, Jazz!" Cliffjumper grumbled, his hand clenched around Jazz's forearm in preparation to yank him back down, not taking his own optics off his cards, "You're not going anywhere until I win every chip back!"

Jazz smirked, "Can't Cliff, I already seen your cards."

Cliffjumper scowled in frustration as he let him go, so similar to the old red Autobot across from him.

"Anyways," Jazz continued, " I wanna go check up on Bumblebee. He left here kinda mad at us…" As he said this he indicated to Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Blaster and himself with a single sweep with his hand.

"That was mad?" Sunstreaker scoffed.

"For Bumblebee," Ironhide interjected, "Yeah."

"How'd you know, old timer?" Blaster spoke, looking up, "You weren't even here then."

"Met him in the Habitat corridor," Ironhide explained, tossing a vexed look at Jazz. "Ya'll ought to stop teasin' him like that.

"Hey man," Jazz said, raising a hand in his defense, "We didn't mean to hurt him. That's why I'm gonna go apologize."

"He said he was going to recharge after he left," Sunstreaker said, with a hint of whining in his voice as he stared at his cards. "He's probably not even awake…"

Sideswipe elbowed his twin before standing, throwing down his own cards, "I'll come with you, Jazz. I lost this hand anyways."

As the pair made it to the door, Jazz turned around with a mischievous grin, "Looks like I'll be getting a whole lot of high quality energon tomorrow. I might even share with some of ya."

He quickly stepped behind the door as a torrent of his own chips came whizzing towards him, complimented by a barrage of frustrated swears, but Jazz's quick dodge caused each of the more aggressively thrown ones to bounce instead off Sideswipe's back.

As the last of the chips thudded behind the closed doors, Sideswipe gave him a glare as he flicked a chip off his shoulder, "Give me some warning next time before you think of being a smartass."

Jazz merely chuckled and proceeded down to the recharge room.

Bumblebee was not in any of the recharging chambers however, nor was their any record of him even using his or any other in the past seventy-two hours.

"Looks like 'Bee found something else to do," Sideswipe said uninterestedly as he looked down one row of chambers. He spotted someone that made him grin evilly in the recharging bed from him.

"Suppose Prowl would notice if…"

"I wouldn't do that, Sideswipe," Jazz warned, "Prowl's recharge cycle's almost up."

"A little invisible bonding agent in the transforming joint at his waist won't take too long…"

"He's at the last few minutes of his five hours," Jazz reasoned, "He's still ain't too happy about you actually helping Wheeljack make that new invention that just happened to crawl into his bed."

"Hey, at least I made sure it didn't blow up when he sat on it," Sideswipe shrugged, looking longingly at the large tube bonding agent that he had pulled out from somewhere. He sighed as he tossed it into the air and caught it, "Well, lets go check out 'Bee's room. He might be there."

Bumblebee didn't answer the first door chime. Or the second or the third.

"Doesn't look like he's here."

"Maybe. But just 'cause he ain't answering don't mean he ain't here. We might of razzed too much," Jazz said, thumbing the entrance key.

_Access denied,_ Teletran 1 informed them.

Jazz and Sideswipe shared a bewildered look.

"Bumblebee never locks his door," Sideswipe said, "He trusts everyone. That's why Sunstreaker and me don't pull as many pranks on him..."

Jazz already felt bad about razzing Bumblebee enough to making him leave the Rec. room, but hurting him enough to get him to do something this drastic (for him) made him feel like he just processed some bad energon. Wanting nothing more but to set it right, he keyed in the command override.

The doors slid open compliantly, and the most they expected was for Bumblebee to be at his desk pouting darkly, but that was hardly what met their eyes.

Bumblebee was slumped in the furthest corner of the room, his legs splayed apart at the knees, his arms limp and the knuckles battered, a shivering drip of energon clinging to the point of one. His head lolled to one side, his mouth slightly open. And his optics had gone completely dark, but the worst of it.

All of his color had drained to grey.

Bumblebee was dead.


	3. Chapter 3

No, not Bumblebee. It can't be Bumblebee. He was much too young, too innocent, his life couldn't have ended yet.

Both Sideswipe and Jazz stood frozen upon laying eyes on the lifeless shell slumped in the corner, too shocked to move, too shocked to speak, too shocked to have thoughts. Emotion though was the first to pour into the void minds; sorrow for loss of a loyal Autobot and a trusted friend; sickness for a life cut so short: a hint anger for the ones who did this; and, most dominant of all, guilt. They were the ones who razzed him up, and whether or not they never meant anything cruel about it, they still were the ones who placed the straw that broke the camel's back. They pushed him to his edge, so he went up and locked himself in his quarters inconspicuously, easily making him a vulnerable target for whatever cowardly but brutal attacker had himself hidden on base. And during this, what were the ones who made him seek isolation in the first place doing? Playing cards and pondering on how to prank on the second-in-command. Bumblebee put up a fight of his own, judging by the defensive wounds on his hands, but in the end, he was just one lone small Autobot. He was…

"Sideswipe," Jazz whispered, not taking his eyes off the metal corpse, "Sideswipe, go get Ratchet."

His tone suggested that there was in fact a chance for Bumblebee, but from what he could see, his spark had all but vanished from Ratchet's medical grasp, leaving the medic with nothing to work with. He had seen comrades like this, limp, optics void of light, and even from a distance he could tell there was no chance. And every time he went in for a closer look, things were exactly what they had seemed.

Sideswipe, however, went off without a second glance, his pounding feet sending thunderous echoes down the corridor as he ran, leaving Jazz alone to deal with his own guilt.

Slowly the Autobot walked to Bumblebee and knelt by his side. He placed his hand on his shoulder, half hoping it would evoke some sort of response from the small figure, but the body instead sagged towards the added weight, the back scraping against the wall as gravity attempted to pull it down to its side.

"Oh Primus, Bumblebee," he pleaded to the still form as grief cut deeper into him, "I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry."

Bumblebee always had been the little brother of the group, the one everyone naturally kept an optic out for. He was the youngest of the orginal Autobot crew who crash landed on this energy rich planet four million years ago, and still was the most innocent of the more recent additions. He was the smallest and the weakest, but he made up for it by most likely being the bravest out of all of them, but he wasn't a brat about it. Some others, including a select few in this group, in his position may constantly try to prove themselves with downright stupid stunts and big talk, but no, not Bumblebee, he accepted his position happily long ago, knowing any teasings were only meant as signs of affection, that the others were going to watch out for him like he was truly a younger sibling in an organic family, and he returned the favor by being peacekeeper, breaking up fights between the older Autobots, especially when the fight wasn't fair.

But now, either partly or entirely by Jazz's fault, Bumblebee met his death. Jazz shook his head, trying to deny it and accept it at the same time. Bumblebee was far too young, but everyone knew the risk for fighting what you believe in. There were two rules in war. Rule one: young and good people die. Rule two: No one can change rule number one. He should be prepared for anyone to end up dead tomorrow or the next day.

But something reachd his audio receptors, so low and faint Jazz almost waved it off as a trick of his sensors, but it came again. No it couldn't be…

It was a groan.

Hardly daring to believe it, Jazz tilted Bumblebee's head ever so gently up to get a better look at his optics. They were still an unnerving black, but a faint spark shown in the centers, almost blending in with the surrounding darkness, but they were definitely there. The spark of life was still within Bumblebee.

Bumblebee was still alive.

Jazz breathed a deeply relieved sigh that had been caught in his ventilation systems.

"Oh Primus, 'Bee," Jazz breathed, "You nearly had me going there. Knew you were too tough to let go."

He scooped Bumblebee's limp but online body into his arms, carrying him out to the corridor. "Doncha worry. Ratchet's gonna fix you up."

Ratchet never liked anyone in his repair bay while he was treating anything above a moderately injured patient, but he couldn't bring himself to do his usual aggressive shooing to the worried off-duty personnel. Not this time. It was Bumblebee, seemingly attacked for no reason by a unknown entity. Who could of done this?

Optimus Prime walked into the repair bay and immediately went to Bumblebee's side on the repair bed, so quietly that no one noticed him but when they did the soft buzzing quickly dissipated into silence. His optics were wide as he looked over the still body, as if he was unable to believe it. Though his face was partially obscured by his battle mask, every Autobot within the room could tell he was worried to stasis lock about the little Autobot.

Optimus Prime reached with his hand to touch the yellow Autobot's battered knuckles, murmuring to Ratchet, "What did this to him?"

The medic shook his head, "I don't know."

"But who'd do this? Sneak past us then attack the smallest of us?" Jazz suddenly spoke up from behind the medic, which almost startled Ratchet. Jazz had gone his longest without speaking a single word, as well as Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, that everyone had almost forgotten they were even present_._

"We're doing everything we can to find out," Wheeljack said determinedly from across the medical berth, the blue lights on either side of his face flashing only a shadow of his usual electric blue as he slowly passed a regenerative tool over each of Bumblebee's left fingers.

"We need to talk to you, Prime," Ratchet whispered so only the trio closest to the repair bed could pick up the frequency. "Alone."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"He wasn't attacked by any Decepticon, or any other Autobot enemy of the past and not anything human." Ratchet reported once the doors snapped shut behind them.

"Yes," Optimus said, "You told me this."

Ratchet shared a look with Wheeljack before turning back to the Prime, "As you know, Cybertronian armor is self regenerating, and there is always a microscopic knick or dent that is being repaired."

Optimus Prime nodded, and Ratchet continued, "The thinnest layer on the surface of our components is the residue of these repairs, and even when Sunstreaker polishes, the layer reappears quickly. It is contiously being rubbed off when we touch objects in our environment. So if I touch Wheeljack's shoulder, my residue can be traced back to me even after a Earth week now, if he doesn't polish too much."

"You've found a way to test the residue for each individual's signature even when mixed with another?" Optimus Prime interjected, straightening.

"Not exactly," Wheeljack said, "But I've found a way to find which faction the donor belongs to. Because their energon processing and intake methods differ from ours, the regenerative patterns are different, therefore… well you understand."

Optimus Prime nodded.

"We can also see if the regenerative residue came from the individual in question or a foreign donor, we just can't pinpoint it after seventy astroseconds after it was transferred onto another indvidual."

"I'm assuming you are going to tell me that it was not a Decepticon who attacked Bumblebee."

"Yes, and…" Ratchet trailed off, looking at Wheeljack as if for support.

"And?"

Ratchet heaved a deep sigh and responded, "It was an Autobot who attacked him."

Optimus Prime straightened sharply, a look of shock in his eyes, "I don't want to believe that I heard that correctly."

"Its true Prime. We ran the test five times."

"Can you tell me how he was attacked, any reasons for a motivation, any explanation?"

Ratchet looked extremely uncomfortable as if he was holding back something disturbing that couldn't be believed , even by himself.

"I may have an explanation," Ratchet said, "But it is disturbing at best."

"I want to hear it."

Ratchet paused before nodding, "The foreign regenerative residue I collected from Bumblebee was concentrated to where organics keep their sexual organs."

He paused as Optimus Prime eyes became wider, knowing ahead of time what Ratchet was about to say.

"He was raped."

**If I made anyone cry during the first part sorry, and I'm flattered. Oh, hint for next chapter. If you want to kill whoever did this to Bumblebee now, I'd bet you will want to give him death by slow toture after reading the next part. BTW helpful reviews make me go faster and better! So much for uploading every two days, work and homework suck. Oh well. And yes, I did change my Pen name. Don't think you've gone nuts (or nuttier. I never now :))**


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Transformers or the characters. Like, duh. :)**

**Ok, language warning for one line (uttered by our favorite CMO, no less) and apologies for taking so long on this chapter. Blame the gremlins that kept stealing my notebooks and forcing me to rewrite it three freakin' times! XD **

Optimus stared silently at the pair of medics as the words, or, in his mind, the accusation, seeped gradually in, despite surges from his emotion reactor and logic circuits that stabbed at the stability of the drawn conclusion. An Autobot, particularly one of his own, doing something like this? No one was capable! It was against Autobot morals! How exactly was rape even possible within their species? Mating, or at the very least, anything quite like any of the varying organic methods, was not possible, particularly intercourse. They lacked the certain genitals.

The last inquiry formed into words, "How is it even possible? We don't even have the primal instinct to mate."

"Humans do," Ratchet explained. "They even put the results in detail in their media."

"Not that humans are to blame entirely," Wheeljack added. "Other sentient organics do the same, and it would be our fault if we followed their examples because of curiosity."

"We all have picked up to some extent human behavior," remarked Prime. "But to go this far? To harm a fellow Autobot? To harm Bumblebee?"

"It's not unheard of Cybertronians to 'experiment' with certain practices of mating, especially if a small, isolated group is surrounded by them," Ratchet explained. "But forcing another into it is. As you've said, we don't have that instinct to drive us that far."

An unreadable expression settled across Prime's face during a momentary silence. Granted, his face was not exactly the most expressive, but with Ratchet's trained and programmed medical eye, Ratchet was able to pick out varying degrees of disgust, bewilderment, and perhaps the most dominant, disappointment, the kind when someone has let another down. All completely understandable and shared with him, but he knew that Prime's emotion of disappointment would certainly be greater than his own, for Prime was the leader of whoever had done this sordid act.

Prime's optics focused once more back on two before him, "Do you know of anyone who may be conducting these experiments?"

Ratchet straightened, caught off guard, "Prime, that's doctor/patient…"

Over the comm. device on Ratchet's desk, Preceptor's voice abruptly cut his comment short.

"Preceptor to Ratchet, my apologies for interrupting, but Bumblebee is regaining consciousness."

Back in the repair bay, Preceptor's words stopped the buzzing among the off-duty Autobots, and stopped any who had taken to pacing or were about to leave.

The doors to Ratchet's office slid open and the Autobots cleared a path immediately for the two medics and the Autobot leader to the occupied repair bed. The chief medic automatically waved his hand to shoo any non-medical personnel who had strayed to close to the medical berth as he glanced at the monitors that displayed Bumblebee's vital signs. He proceeded to remove the hook ups from beneath the Autobot's chassis; Bumblebee's awakening state rendering them unnecessary. Preceptor hastily filled Ratchet in on points of Bumblebee's condition that was not readily available from the display monitors, his vocabulary naturally difficult to understand if one was not following closely enough. Ratchet clicked Bumblebee's chest armor back into place, nodding once or twice and replying with statement almost equally laced with what humans may refer to as "techno babble."

A barely audible groaned escaped from Bumblebee, causing the three medics to still naturally for a beat, unsure of whether or not it was real or imagined, before Ratchet placed his hand on Bumblebee's shoulder. "You all right, Bumblebee?" It was a stupid question, yes, but it was a simple way of showing someone cared and was a polite gesture he had picked up from the humans.

Touch receptors began increasing in sensitivity as Bumblebee gradually rose out of stasis lock. They did not sense the hand right away, but when they did, the Autobot instinctively flinched beneath Ratchet's palm. This did not bother Ratchet immediately; Bumblebee had gone through a traumatizing experience, an experience caused deliberately caused by one of his own, no less, and was more than likely to be a bit jumpy for a few solar cycles. But the flinch never ended. The internal systems in Bumblebee's shoulder never relaxed when they should have sensed there was no danger. Instead, they shook as they tried desperately to pull the joint away from the touch into the hard surface of the table.

"Oh no," Ratchet whispered, removing his hand as memories of past patients with similar symptoms rose to his mind's eye. Granted, there was a possibility this would turn out to be a simple, post-event symptom and would vanish once Bumblebee gained a fully conscious mind, but Ratchet had a nasty feeling nagging him.

Bumblebee's shoulder stopped shuddering immediately after the Autobot medic ceased the physical contact. His optics opened and brightened as they came into focus. Ratchet did not know what Bumblebee first saw at the time being, but something made the yellow Autobot bolt straight up with a sharp intake through his ventilation systems, the Cybertronian equivalent of a gasp, and scramble backwards, his eyes round with fear.

"You're all right, Bumblebee," Ratchet said calmly and as consolingly as he could manage. "You're in the repair bay. You're safe."

It may have seemed that Bumblebee had not heard Ratchet at first if one did not look closely at Bumblebee's more subtle body language. When he uttered the beginning syllable, his optics latched shortly onto Ratchet. The glimpse was fleeting, but Ratchet could tell the emotion of pure terror had subjected Bumblebee. Perhaps a hallucination was causing it, at least, that would be the best-case scenario. Ratchet could repair fried logic circuitry and optic nerves.

"Stay away from me!" Bumblebee shrieked, his voice almost cracking, not only directed towards Ratchet, but any other mech he could lay an optic on as well. His alert gaze swept over the room, counting the number of, in his tortured mind, foes that wished to harm him.

"Bumblebee, it's us!" Wheeljack tried to reason with him, "We're you friends!"

"N-no!" Bumblebee scrambled back so he teetered dangerously on the headrest of the bed, the furthest he could get from them. "I can't trust any of you! Keep away from me!"

The last exclamation sent him tilting backwards dangerously, the natural force of gravity threatening to pull him down to earth. His equilibrium chips fought to rectify his position, prompting Preceptor to reach out his hand in attempt to assist him. Instead, Bumblebee found stability on the medical tray Wheeljack had been using, unfortunately giving also giving him an array of potential weapons. He snatched up a laser scalpel and activated it, slashing it at Preceptor's hand. Simple reflex kept Preceptor's fingers from becoming eight just in time and forced the scientist to step back. Bumblebee attempted to narrow his optics as he placed the effective weapon between him and the others, perhaps to show that he was willing to be aggressive to protect himself. He failed, for his fear was greater than his anger. He turned the weapon towards each general group of Autobots scattered across the room, incase some may try to blindside him.

"Get back," he warned, barely keeping his voice from cracking.

Ratchet motioned for his medics to comply with the patient's wishes, backing off himself. Bumblebee, however, did not let his guard down the slightest, except for the tension in his shoulders loosening ever so slightly.

Optimus Prime then spoke, causing Bumblebee to regain any the little tension he had lost. "Bumblebee," he said his voice calm and soft. "Do you recognize who I am?"

A silent beat passed in which no mech so much as flexed an appendage before Bumblebee gathered enough to nod. "Optimus Prime."

Ratchet's jaw tightened. This supported the worst-case diagnosis. He had patients like this before, Autobots who had been tortured into stasis lock by traumatizing and violent means, and when they were re-awoken, they behaved like this. Afraid of touch, afraid of anything that moved, delusional from extreme fear and CPU damage, believing friends were hideous monsters or the ones who had taken the temporarily offline. However, Bumblebee's case varied slightly; from what they could tell, the physical part of his brain was undamaged, and he recognized who they were, but the selfish acts made by one of their number shattered the deep, almost childlike trust Bumblebee had for Autobots. Ratchet fought to keep his outward demeanor calm as his internal fluids began seething with anger. There was no need to give his frightened patient more reason to fear him.

"Then you should know that I won't harm you," Optimus continued, "I'm your leader, your friend."

Bumblebee seemed to go over this in his mind, keeping the scalpel level. Optimus stepped forward, his hand stretched out.

"Give me the scalpel, 'Bee."

Bumblebee shrank away slightly, raising the scalpel the same amount "N-no…"

"I won't harm you," the Prime assured calmly, "I won't let anyone."

An unreadable expression spread itself across the Cybertronian's face as a response to the last words. Behind the blue lenses the camera's behind went out of focus. This bothered ratchet, but the leader appeared to take this more as a positive sign rather than a negative. He took another step toward the traumatized patient, his hand outstretched so the he could receive the handle of the medical tool, but no closer. "I'm your friend Bumblebee."

Bumblebee's optics sharply came back into focus and widened fearfully. With a desperate cry, he slashed the laser scalpel through his leader's hand. Prime involuntarily yelped in pain, his reflexes pulling away his hand all too late, his forefinger dropping to the deck plating and his middle hanging on by a few threads of exoskeleton. Gasping, he held up his hand to stop any who stepped forward naturally to protect their leader, he himself backing off in compliance to the yellow Autobot's wishes, grimacing as he clutched his arm by the wrist. His hand dripped fluids and spat sparks angrily.

"I can't trust any of you!" Bumblebee shouted, as if in defense for mutilating Optimus's hand. "Keep away!"

"I want all non-medical personnel out of my sickbay!" Ratchet barked, rounding on the others. "Now!"

One may have expected Bumblebee to realize that he had at least one ally, to notice Ratchet was defending him. Instead, Bumblebee turned the laser scalpel on the medic, shrinking away but keeping the instrument level.

"You want me for yourself, huh?" Bumblebee squeaked, attempting to pull a less terrified expression. "No! I won't let you."

Ratchet stilled in attempt to make not any sudden movement, looking back over his shoulder. "Bumblebee," he said gently," I understand what he did to you, but I'm here to help you. I won't let it happen again. If…"

"Trying to my guard down, huh?" Bumblebee squeaked. "No! It won't work this time." As if to prove his point, he brandished the weapon once or twice threateningly.

Moments slid by in which nobody made any movement, much less spoke, save for Bumblebee, who kept himself wary, scanning the room for anyone with the slightest inclination to attack. The room, which the Autobots still had not cleared despite Ratchet's clear orders, did not appear to be threatening by any means, but, again, Bumblebee did not lower his guard.

The red and white mech remained in his position, staring at Bumblebee over his shoulder, not daring to make another moment that may frighten Bumblebee further. Oh Primus, whoever was sick enough to harm the young Autobot in that way had destroyed any trace of the deep, almost childlike trust he held for all of them. Barely able to contain his emotions, his fist threatened to clench as an urge came upon him, one provoking him make it come into crushing contact with something, preferably the culprit. If he allowed his seething anger to claw out and settle upon his external features, he would look dangerous and that would not help matters much.

Without warning a fuchsia field enclosed around the head of the scalpel, causing the medical tool to deactivate and wrench itself from its master's hand. The magnetic field pulled the instrument through the air towards the port side, Windcharger catching it almost triumphantly.

Bumblebee froze like a frightened rabbit, staring at his empty fist. His ventilation systems quickened as he looked up towards the others. He had lost his only defense; he was so much more vulnerable. He began trembling as he slowly reached back towards the medical tray like a housecat ready to pounce…

Ratchet launched forwards, grabbing Bumblebee by the shoulders and sliding him down back onto the berth, pinning him there. As long as Bumblebee was pulling weapons, he was a danger to others and to his own self. The repair bay had to be secured.

Bumblebee began to scream the moment Ratchet laid hands upon him, kicking and thrashing, beating on Ratchet's armor with all he had. Spots of energon dotted the white and red mech's body where Bumblebee could reach him, the fluid coming from the weakened areas of newly healed armor.

"Get the EMP!" Ratchet shouted to Wheeljack, his superior strength and stature successfully holding the yellow Autobot to the berth. Bumblebee, despite this, kept up his desperate thrashing, almost similar to an elk calf fighting desperately within the clutches of a grizzly's jaws.

Though Wheeljack responded immediately, it took thirteen lengthy seconds for Wheeljack to retrieve the electro-magnetic generator and emit a low-level pulse safely into Bumblebee's neck, more than enough time for Bumblebee to cause bodily harm to himself in desperation. Finally, Bumblebee's optics went softly out of focus as his systems went offline once more. Weakly, he threw a single uncoordinated kick. Then he fell limp.

Ratchet hesitated from removing his hands from Bumblebee's shoulders, not because he suspected Bumblebee was not fully out, but because he had to brace himself for the wounds that most likely to be beneath his fingers, wounds _he_ inflicted upon a helpless patient. He was right. As his hands came away, they left behind painful-looking depressions in the grey armor, causing the chief medical officer to flinch mentally. He was supposed to heal his patient's wounds, not inflict them.

Clenching his fists, he allowed his anger to show, baring his dentals. "Whoever did this," he growled in a deadly, quiet tone, referring to Bumblebee's paranoid state of mind, "I will personally rip out your laser core and destroy it."

So menacing and intimating he was when he rounded on the others that more than a few actually flinched. "I want everyone out of here!" Ratchet growled. "Now!"

No one had to be told twice. The room cleared as Ratchet told their quickly retreating, tongue-lashing them from goggling Bumblebee during a vulnerable moment to talking too loud during their retreat. (Most were silent) Everyone gave the medic, positioned defensively over the biobed, and the bed a wide berth, except for Windcharger, who came cautiously up to him to hand back the laser scalpel. Ratchet grabbed it out of his hand roughly, staring down at the minibot indignantly.

When the doors slid shut behind the last remaining Autobot, Ratchet threw the laser scalpel with all of his might into them, leaving a small dent and breaking the instrument in two, accompanied by a stream of profanity of thousands of languages he held in his CPU.

"Fucking bastards, staring at Bumblebee like that instead of clearing their slagging asses out when I fucking told them too."

"They're all worried about him, Ratch'," Wheeljack said calmly, running a scanner over Optimus Prime's hand.

Ratchet wore some with such an offensive vocabulary that Prime held up his good hand, "Enough, Ratchet. That's not helping us now."

Ratchet, still fuming, turned around and marched over to Prime, his jaw tightened as if attempting to hold the swearing back and took Wheeljack's place.

"Now," Prime added calmly, trying to bring order back. "In your office you told me there were some of my Autobots who were experimenting with organic mating rituals…"

"Inferno, Red Alert, Sideswipe, Jazz, Arcee, Hot Rod, Seaspray and Sunstreaker," Ratchet answered, no longer caring about the confidentiality. "Seaspray and Arcee the most likely. Seaspray had that organic girlfriend and Arcee drops hints like humans. Flirting, I believe. More inclined to mating."

Prime was silent for a moment, surprised at the amount names. Two out of five were formally under Ultra Magnus's command before they arrived to Earth. The twins' names did not surprise him too much; they have been indulging in Earth culture almost as much as Jazz, it could not be too surprising that they picked up some human pick up lines. Seaspray did have that organic girl from one of those previous missions, but he seemed rather loyal to her, like Ironhide was to Chromia, and like how he was with Elita-1. Inferno and Red Alert? Well, he had not seen either of them behaving too much like humans, just to the regular extent. He could not believe either of them would do something like rape.

But what of Arcee and Hot Rod? Hot Rod was a young punk, as Kup and Ironhide liked to put it, but apparently a good kid. Arcee seemed too mild to be able to attack a fellow Autobot, especially like Bumblebee, but Prime had observed her flirting with Hot Rod and Springer. She seemed rather interested with the organic ritual. He admitted he did not know either very well; they are arrival on Earth was still recent. Ultra Magnus was an old friend of Prime's; to think he had someone able to do rape and not have the slightest knowledge was difficult to fathom. He commanded the group of five, Springer, Arcee, Hot Rod, Kup and Outback, for years, surely he should have picked up on indications of a serious flaw that would result in Bumblebee's case. Though Ultra Magnus was not the most sociable type, perhaps it could have slipped by him.

"Are these names you suspect, or have they told you they actually engage in experimental mating?" Optimus asked.

"Arcee, I'm sure has," Ratchet shrugged. "She told me this during her physical exam."

"She hardly seems capable of something, anything, like this," Wheeljack said from Bumblebee's side, running scans alongside Preceptor.

"Any Autobot seems incapable," Prime stated. "She's a start."

**Don't kill anyone just yet, peeps, more chapters comin' right up! BTW if ya think Bumblebee's reaction is a bit too drastic, I have an explination for that. I always do :) BTW, I was thinking on putting in Inferno/Red Alert references but was unsure if readers might get annoyed or angry or something. So if you like In/RA, hate it or are indifferent, please say so.**

**Please review! Its simple. Just one word like "good" is fine. I just wanna now if peeps are actually reading it or clicking the back button cause I said something they disagreed on. Or it was bad. (guilty of that) I see all you readers, btw.**


	5. Chapter 5

A/N Thank you all my reviewers, especially to Black Arein and Leo Oneal. Sorry guys that I haven't replied back to most of your reviews. More so that this it took so long to put up a piece of crap incomplete chapter. Honestly guys, I don't have too good of an excuse (even though some people would use moving from upstate NY to NV as one. Not that I'D use that fact… :P)

I've got more to add on to this chapter, but it'll take time to put the jumbled of notebook pages together and typed into a semi-decent document. And I'm guessing you really want to have one sentence for hope of this continuing.

… please to kill me.

Oh, I'm also going to rewrite the first few chapters. They've been making me twitch.

Optimus slouched over his desk, allowing his face to sink into the palm of his hand. Interrogating his own bots, with there were over forty, was hardly an easy task, for simple reasons. And for these, he was mentally and physically exhausted. If Primus willed it, and Optimus prayed He did, this predicament would be over swiftly. Just learning that one of his Autobots could do such a thing had drained him of much, including hope. If someone could torture a sparkling like Bumblebee, no matter the method, to the point at he was at now, it could not be considered Cybertronian. Not in the inside, not in the spark. And if someone became such a… thing… on the side of good…

The Prime mentally shook himself, clearing such thoughts from his mind. No use thinking of such things right now, the Ark… Bumblebee needed him to be out of despair. Even if Bumblebee was frightened of him now, he still needed his protection. Prime would not let this bastard hurt another one of his young again. He sat back upright, reaching for his data pad again.

He had processed each individual's story, recording them and noted vital points down. And they all fitted together like puzzle pieces, pointing to no one in particular. Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Preceptor had separately estimated the time when Bumblebee was most likely attacked and then left for dead, and it came out to be a two hour timeslot in which it most likely took place. And according to that, there were weaker stories. Thirty-one percent of the bots were on patrol all over the country during this. One or two were out of the country, even. Though half of them had locations and/or partners as alibis, more were on a solo mission, with only the occasional human as them. And when they entered or exited the base, the sensor strips and spare cameras and perhaps their friends, and a good handful of them had so during the two hours.

All in all, fifteen Autobots had no solid proof of their stories, while five of his soldiers where undoubtedly accounted for.

Chief Tactical Officer Prowl was one of the latter. He, for example, went the past sixteen days without recharge, and when his body began to wear down, he was forced into recharge last night in an extremely deep state, one that most Cybertronians only took once a stellar cycle. It was like being frozen to the core, and to be woken up it was like being melted with a relative sized match. There was no way he could have gotten up in the middle of such a slumber without a four hour "warm up" that the end of it really provides. He would not be able to function. Plenty of mechs confirmed this when they went in and out of the room, as did the video feeds and recharge records.

Not that video was solid proof for anyone's case; Wheeljack, who built and programmed the sensor strip program that now lined the corridors, found that it was tampered with, and rather artfully, too. Ironically, Wheeljack, Red Alert and Grapple where discussing a flaw in coding within the system with Prime during the designated time block and spanning out erstwhile and subsequent.

And the final two were Ratchet and Hound, who were both confirmed to be in sickbay by various soldiers during that period. Four days ago or so, Hound was out on a solitary patrol, and was cornered by the Stunticons, and they beat him until the scout could not stand. Ironically, the Motormaster's and his crew's brutality was what saved Hound. Like many Decepticons, they'd rather prolong an Autobot's pain than kill them on sight. More fun for them that way. So ever since, the mild tempered bot was in the medical bay, with Ratchet hovering over him and, at Hound's and Wheeljack's request, studying the damage to find ways to resist the force fields the Stunticons had around their car form.

A soft chime at the door drew Prime out of his thoughts, and he immediately covered himself in the cool, collected expression of his leader form. "Come in."

Prowl stepped up to his desk, followed by Ratchet, Red Alert and Hound, and Prime wasted not a nano-klick. "Prowl, before the war, you were once a crime scene analyst, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir. Supervisor of my shift, to be precise." Beside him, Ratchet actually rose a optic ridge at that.


End file.
